In Fields of Yarrow
by TheYmp
Summary: Even healing's not the altruistic act it appears when it serves a dark purpose. Rowena/Sam. Non-con. Set season 12. Written for the 2017 SPNSpringFling on LiveJournal.


**Disclaimer: I don't own** ** _Supernatural_** **or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

 ** _Even healing's not the altruistic act it appears when it serves a dark purpose._** **Rowena/Sam. Non-con. Set season 12.**

 **Written for the 2017 SPNSpringFling on LiveJournal. The prompts were:** ** _Rowena & Sam, "the last time they saw this much yarrow", and "_** ** _looking for the heart of Saturday night_** ** _: a fever dream"_** **.**

~#~

 **In Fields of Yarrow**

 ** _"Love is the law, love under will ... There is no law beyond do what thou wilt" - Liber AL vel Legis_**

Sam had been dosing fitfully on the couch in the library when he heard the loud, crashing knocking coming from the bunker's entrance.

He staggered up the staircase and threw open the heavily-warded door, blinking owlishly in the face of brilliant sunlight. He'd assumed it would be his brother having forgotten his key again, instead he squinted at the very unlike-Dean figure silhouetted before him.

"Surprise!" cried Rowena in mock merriment, holding out her arms as if they were old friends. _Old something,_ snarked Sam, uncharitably to himself.

Rowena slumped in resignation at his clear lack of enthusiasm. She seemed on the verge of speaking when something caught her eye and she half-turned away, plucking at a weed with tiny white flowers and feathery leaves. Whatever it was, as far as he could see, its like filled the otherwise empty fields that surrounded the bunker, and looked to be endemic to the area.

 _"Achillea millefolium_ ," Rowena muttered, as she rubbed the plant between her fingers, sending a flurry of tiny petals floating to the ground. "For healing," she added, louder for Sam's benefit. "The last time I saw this much yarrow... I was living on the charity of strangers," she explained, seeming to lose herself in her surroundings.

"They were maybe more _strange_ than _charitable_ ," she snorted and added something under her breath in a melancholic tone too low for Sam to quite catch, but it sounded a little like "my Achilles' heel".

"You know herbs?" Sam asked awkwardly, at a loss at the sight of Rowena's uncharacteristic, wistful behavior.

Rowena rolled her eyes. "I wouldnae be much of a witch if I didn't, now, would I?" she drawled, the sarcasm so thick it practically dripped from her lips. And with that it was like someone had flicked a switch and the 'normal' Rowena was back. She looked at him-looked at him properly-for the first time since arriving and her eyes widened in shocked surprise at his appearance.

"Och, Samuel! You look like you've had seven shades of shite kicked out of you," said Rowena, giving a passable impression of appearing concerned. She put one hand out to cup his cheek, but at the last moment left it hovering over the purpling bruising. "What's occurring?"

"What d'you want, Rowena?" replied Sam brusquely. He shrugged himself out of her reach, which was no great task given their height discrepancy. He was in no mood for her usual games.

"Pshaw, is that any way to greet an ally?" complained the witch scornfully, as she pushed passed him. Sam noted with interest how she shivered almost imperceptibly as she crossed the threshold, scraping her foot on it as she did so.

"So, where's the _wee_ Winchester?" she called over one shoulder, as she led him back down the stairs and into the library. Her eyes roamed across the shelves as if she were a starving woman gazing at the finest of foods. It almost made Sam's mouth water by secondary association.

"It's so dark in here," she grumbled, as she pirouetted in place. Sam couldn't help but notice how her floor-length, form-fitting gown-of the type she usually favored- emphasized her svelte figure and womanly curves.

Sam shook his head to clear it. Dean was right: _he really needed to get laid_.

"But it's lovely outside," continued Rowena, unknowing-or more likely uncaring-of Sam's inner turmoil at her presence. "I mean, if you like that sort of thing. And I'm guessing you don't; what with being locked away down here like some big ol' mole man."

Sam screwed up his face at her in irritation, which grew to annoyance when she just responded with her usual trilling laugh and bopped him gently on the nose with one immaculately painted finger.

"Och, you just look _so_ _adorable_ when you do that," she laughed, only to stop in a delayed reaction as her easy smile turned abruptly to a frown. Grabbing his shirt front she pulled him down to her level and laid the palm of her other hand across his forehead.

"My, but you're burning up!" she exclaimed.

"I'm _fine_ ," countered Sam, taking her by the waist with both hands to gently, but firmly, lift her away. Expecting the usual argument, Sam was surprised by her stunned acquiescence. "What are you doing here?"

Rowena shook herself to clear the effect of whatever had momentarily distracted her. "I'm here for the same reason that you are," she declared, as if Sam had lost all reason. "This _is_ probably the only place we're safe from Lucifer."

"Did Dean put you up to this?" asked Sam, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Rowena laughed so loudly it was practically a whoop of delight. "I'm touched that you'd even think for _a moment_ that I might be in cahoots with your brother."

She looked at him with the same uncharacteristic concern as before. "I take it he's not here, then? So, what, he's left you on your own to go gallivanting off with that pretty, boy-toy angel of his?"

Despite having made similarly-worded complaints of his own earlier, Sam found his hackles rising at the observation. Rowena's grin widened at his obvious discomfort. "So what essential task have they got you performing while they're out there risking their lives for you?"

Sam swayed in place and so dropped himself down into a nearby seat. He idly flicked the pages of a book nervously back and forth without looking at them. "I'm researching," he said, trying not to wince as the defensive edge in his voice.

"He made you stay behind didn't he!" she gloated, her eyes lighting up. "Don't lie. I can tell! There's no way mommy-Dean would leave his big baby brother behind otherwise."

Sam scowled. "Lucifer's burning his way through more and more vessels-"

"Aye, and you look like you're already making a start on burning your way through yours," quipped Rowena, indicating Sam's battered appearance.

"I didn't think you knew about that," sighed Sam.

"Hmm?"

"You know, the whole true vessel for Lucifer thing," Sam mumbled as he rested his face in his hands and tried to massage away the awful pounding in his head.

"What?" Rowena blinked. An unfathomable expression swept crossed her face before she recovered. "Och, sweetie, _everyone_ knows about that."

Sam looked up sharply. He had a sudden inkling she was up to something despite the faux-innocent way she'd turned away from him and was now running her fingers causally along the bunker's bookshelves. _What am I thinking; she's always up to something_ ,

Rowena grimaced and wiped the dust from her hands down the sides of her dress, unmindful of the streaks it left behind. "It's strange then; so why hasn't our Dark Lord even _tried_ to take you, instead of hopping about all over the place?"

"That's what I said to Dean!" said Sam, lost in reliving the same old, familiar argument that had played on over the last couple of weeks. "And especially since I'd already said 'yes' to him before."

"Haven't we all, dear," Rowena muttered with a grim smile. "And look where it's got us: you hiding away underground like a big wee mole man and me with nary a pot to piss in."

They both laughed in time to that.

 _Her laugh is so alive,_ thought Sam, looking at her in self-confused wonder. He couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled, let alone laughed, and though the sound and motion sent spikes of pain through his head it still felt good.

Rowena flicked her hair over one shoulder and Sam was mesmerized by its color and the way it caught the light. Black dots spread across his blurring vision until it was all too much. He dropped forward to rest his head on his crossed arms on the table top. He sensed, rather than saw, Rowena move closer and behind his chair.

"For someone who claims to be homeless you smell real good," he groaned as she placed her hands on his shoulders and idly massaged the knotted tension.

Whatever she said in response was lost as he slipped into unconsciousness.

~#~

Fortunately, Sam had regained coherence just enough to be guided back to his room. _I'd never have been able to man-handle him so far,_ worried Rowena as she hovered over his great bulk. She'd stripped him of enough layers to reveal the angry, red-infected claw marks of whatever beastie he'd faced that had clearly come so close to ending him in battle and might yet still kill him now.

She needed to break his fever and had the perfect solution right on their doorstep. The thought conjured memories of young soldiers dying far from home, wasted lives lost to disease. They too had been unknowing of the potential source of their salvation surrounding them. _So much suffering._

Back then she'd still been a mere novice and forbidden to help unless it directly helped the coven she'd sought shelter with. She closed her eyes to regain composure. Despite the odd blip, she'd sealed her heart to all this a _long_ time ago.

 _Best to just look out for yourself. Getting close just means pain_. She wiped a lock of hair from out of Sam's face. Unconscious, he looked so young.

 _That's a lot of yarrow outside, though_ , she thought.

~#~

The bathtub was big, surprisingly so, given the too-functional décor of the room and bathroom. The heat and powerful flow of water from the faucet was equally pleasing. Rowena considered how she had stayed in many a five-star hotel that would kill for such amenities.

Her nose twitched at the bitter, herbal scent of the crushed yarrow she'd collected and piled in the bathtub, augmented with a little spell craft. She stirred and added enough cold water until she judged it was ready. Given the option, she'd have preferred to extract the essential oil to create a tincture, but time was not on her side.

Now she just needed to get Sam in as well, which would be no mean feat. She waited over him on the bed from where he'd collapsed earlier. His temperature had shot up, dangerously so, and it had been a couple of hours since he'd passed out without regaining full consciousness.

She dragged him to the bathroom which was a long and painful process for both of them, that she hoped not to have to repeat. There she stripped him of the remainder of his clothes, and, unable to resist the temptation to admire the strong, muscled body revealed, she leered approvingly at what she found. "So _that's_ where the nickname comes from," she chuckled.

She was less amused by the soaking she got as she tipped him into the prepared water. Her mood was improved by the rapid restorative action-as well as an unexpected, physiological effect-of the cool liquid on her patient.

"My, my Samuel, so you _are_ pleased to see me," she giggled, as she wriggled out of her wet clothes and climbed in and positioned herself atop him. "You know," she whispered. "Yarrow's also called _Devil's Plaything_."

"Jessica?" Sam moaned.

"Hardly," replied Rowena between gritted teeth.

Sam's body thrummed with renewed life and she could sense the possibilities roiling beneath her. She could feel he was close.

"Ruby," he gasped.

She had only a vague notion of whom he was referring to. "I guess I can live with that," she muttered, as she pursued her own release, before allowing herself to fall forward, sated, on his broad chest. She decided she really needed to go back and finish the Winchester Gospels, no matter how badly written and tiresomely self-righteous she found them. _Maybe there's an audio-book version?_

The water was now uncomfortable cold and she moved to get out. "Well, I've either broken your fever, or I've broken you."

~#~

"Thank you," said Sam, now healing and back in his bed, as he passed back the glass of water after managing the smallest of sips.

"It was nothing," smiled Rowena, wondering how much, if anything, the man would remember of his unorthodox treatment. "Go back to sleep. If you want to thank anyone, thank the abundance of yarrow you've got growing around here. It's excellent for healing and breaking a fever."

 _And fertility_ , Rowena thought to herself, placing a hand over her abdomen. She smiled as she used her powers to sense the quickening of new, fragile life within. It took only a gentle nudge to ensure the desired gender. With one son already lost, and another she wished _would be_ , she was definitely playing the long game with the next one.

Sam nodded and slipped back into sleep almost immediately; a testament to how severe his illness had been and the toll it had taken on his body

 _Perhaps this one will prove to be more to my Dark Lord's liking,_ she mused.

~#~

 ** _"When I'm gone wait here, I'll send my child my last good bye..." - 'Love Under Will', The Fields of the Nephilim_**

(;,;)


End file.
